


Teatime with the Distortion

by SirBoopington



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Gen, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-13
Updated: 2020-11-13
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:00:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27541222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SirBoopington/pseuds/SirBoopington
Summary: A drabble to deal with the fuckery that was MAG187.
Relationships: Helen Richardson & Michael Shelley, Helen | The Distortion & Michael | The Distortion (The Magnus Archives)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 25





	Teatime with the Distortion

Dying was painful. Not really as painful as one might expect, but still horrible.

This was partly a lie. Dying had obviously hurt more than anything else Helen had been through. Greater heights just meant a longer way to fall and all that. But in retrospect, the agony had only lasted a few seconds at most before she popped into non-existence and felt awfully silly about her panicking.

There was a table. It was a rather sensible table, she thought, with cute little curled legs and just enough space for three.

Someone sat at this table. He had a tin of coco powder, and was ladling extraordinary amounts of it into a mug. The brown powder balanced on the hot milk like a precarious spire.

There was another mug next to his. This one was for Helen, as indicated by the same purple shade her favourite suit donned. Still, the blonde man resolutely refused to share.

"You're not expecting an apology are you?" she pulled a chair out, "You tried to kill me."  
"I tried to kill a lot of people," Michael sniffed.  
"You're just upset that you got one-upped by a real estate agent."

_I'd have preferred it if **no one** tried to one-up me._

"Ignore it," Michael grumbled, "It's been sulking in the corner there all morning."

Michael's coco pile was now above his sitting height, an impressive feat considering his permanent occupation as a human toothpick.

Helen kicked Michael with the sharp of her high heels. He gave her an affronted look as she stole the tin from him and conjured up another mug.

"Would you like some, Mx Distortion?" she inquired.  
The Distortion gave her a look that was somewhere between inane scribbling and the expression you make after you get a cheap pen from your Christmas cracker for the fifth year in a row.

It sighed a twisted, weary sound.

_Sure._

**Author's Note:**

> Rip Michael Mcfuck Hands, and now Rip our Spiral wife, Helen. Can't have shit in the Eyepocalypse.


End file.
